"Come on, Stiles," Erica pouts angrily outside the boys' bathroom. "I'm sure you look fine and we have to go perform for the class."
"Ugh," he whines indignantly as he bursts through the door in his white and pale violet flowing drapes. "Laugh and I will kill you," he points threateningly. "Don't think I can't," he reminds as she stifles a giggle.
The short walk down the hall is, thank god, witnessed only by a few freshmen, easily death glared into silence.
"We're ready," Erica calls as they come through the door into the drama class. A few of the boys choke down chuckles at Stiles' get up, but most of the drama girls give approving nods. Stiles blushes as they begin reciting their scene.
"No," Stiles hisses at her. Erica just elbows him, hard, in the ribs.
"We would love that, Ms. Triveni," Erica coos and the teacher smiles and walks away. She turns to her partner and chides, "This will be good for you."
"What?!" he remarks. "How will getting on stage and performing an entire play as the female lead be good for me?"
Erica scoffs. "You should have smelled the arousal in here. From the girls. And Josh. Directed at you. I don't understand why, but apparently you look hot in that outfit," she shrugs and heads out of the room.
"How is this my life?" he laments to the ceiling as the second bell rings and he's already late for his last class of the day. "Shit."
He books it down the hallway, wispy trails flowing out behind him mockingly. He mumbles his hate for drama as he enters AP Calculus and everyone looks at him like he's grown an extra head.
"Mr. Stilinski," the teacher calmly chastises, making Stiles wonder what the record for most teachers reprimanding a single student in a day is. He's pretty sure he'd win that one. Mr. Rainer just gestures to Stiles clothes in question.
"I got out of drama class late. No time to change," he explains with a shrug.
"Fine," the teacher accepts. "Sit in the back."
"Quite the fashion statement," Lydia remarks as they get out of calc and walk to their lockers. Stiles just sighs, his mostly exposed shoulders sagging. "Really," she nods, "can I have it, we're about the same size."
"Sorry, Lyds," he says stopping next to the bathroom near their lockers. She gives him a confused expression, so he explains begrudgingly, "Apparently I've been drafted to be one of the leads in this semester's play. We're doing Romea and Julius. The entire thing. In front of the entire school."
"Go you," she congratulates proudly. He makes a shocked face of betrayal and she shrugs him off. "What? It's gonna look great on college applications and since I'm going to beat you for valedictorian, you're gonna need it," she winks. He goes to open the door, but both of their phones vibrate. He knows it's a Pack text and his phone's in his jeans in his backpack, so he just waits for Lydia to tell him. "How long does it take you to change?" she asks.
"Like fifteen minutes: this thing's complicated," he looks up at her consoling face. "No," he starts.
"I'm really sorry," she says.
"Seriously, no," he pleas, pushing into the bathroom.
She grabs his arm. "Derek says now. You need to drive me to his place. Jackson's already out at the preserve."
"Come on!" Stiles laments as the petite strawberry blonde drags him toward the parking lot.
They arrive at the old Hale house and park alongside the other cars. They're the last ones there and Stiles can see movement through the gaps in the boards on the front windows. "I'm just gonna change and then come in," he suggests, reaching for his backpack.
Lydia smacks his hand. "Come on, you big baby. I can guarantee you won't die of embarrassment," she winks. She's getting better at making banshee jokes. He groans again at the sheer ridiculous torture that is his life before hopping out of the Jeep and walking toward the burnt shell of what was once a home.
"You're late," Derek says, turning and then freezing at the sight.
"Yep," Stiles throws his hands up. "Yuck it up, asshats. But isn't there some big emergency that was so time sensitive it kept me from changing my clothes?"
Some of the Betas have confused expressions, but Derek clears his throat and answers, "Trolls."
"I swear to god!" Stiles yells as he's hurling mountain ash powder to get the trolls all turned around. "If I stain this thing, I'm gonna be so pissed!"
"I thought you hated it!" Erica called from where she was dodging flying tree trunks.
"It still took me eight hours to make!" he shouts back. Across the bloody field of battle, werewolves, a huntress, and a banshee smirk with various degrees of humor.
